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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711754">let me count</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcactus/pseuds/digitalcactus'>digitalcactus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Crisis Core Era (Compilation of FFVII), Ficlet, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Nibelheim Incident (Compilation of FFVII), it's Sad Bastard Hours</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcactus/pseuds/digitalcactus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern.</p><p>(If everyone you've ever loved leaves you behind, maybe the problem isn't them.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>let me count</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps it is you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought comes in a whisper; unbidden, unwanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets it aside along with the mission reports. The words are irrelevant; the mission is complete. What's done is done, and he cannot change it. Time travel does not exist, after all. </span>
  <span>He cannot go back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, the words dog his footsteps as reliably as Angeal—as Commander Hewley's puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Empirically,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it whispers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>count them all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He does not, and opens the next mission report.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does not end there.</span>
</p><p><em><span>Gast,</span></em><span> it says later, as he lays awake at night. </span><em><span>Angeal.</span></em> <em><span>Genesis. </span></em><span>Over and over, until he resigns himself to one night, then two, then three—an untold number of nights filled with choppy, broken sleep. He counts names, revisits the memories that remain, searches for the words to articulate the nameless gnawing in his chest, the way he cannot force his eyes shut, even to blink, as they burn, casting a poisonous green glow in the dark of his bedroom.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gast. Angeal. Genesis. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The few hours he can get are adequate. He is capable of functioning with less. Capable of </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> with less, recalling sleepless nights on watch prior to mission deployments. They all could, to an extent, a skill burned into them with the mako in their veins. It had become nearly tradition, at some point, the three of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the darkness with only the wind through the trees and the screeching of cicadas to accompany their vigil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was then. Unlike the front lines, his office is silent. Has always been silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will always be silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gast. Angeal. Genesis.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jenova,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hisses the voice one night, a break in the pattern. It’s enough to give him pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jenova, his mother. That she died when he was born, and that she had long hair. These were the only two things he knew of her. Nothing of her personality, her temperament, whether she, like all the others, would have chosen to leave, given the chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked to think not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But hadn’t he thought the same of the others?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once was a coincidence. Twice was a pattern. He had counted up to more than two, and there were very few common denominators between them all. Perhaps the number would be even higher, had he been close to any others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that in itself was telling, when he had little now to stop him from meeting and speaking to others around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to him now that it has been quite some time since he had last seen Lieutenant Fair, and for a surreal, irrational moment he is gripped with the unwavering belief that the man is already gone, never to be seen again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the moment passes. If he were still in the building, still employed by Shinra, he would be asleep in his apartment, as appropriate for this time of night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he were not…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Lieutenant Fair were to defect, to truly follow in his mentor’s footsteps, then it would be Sephiroth’s responsibility and Sephiroth’s alone to track him down. There would be no others to rely on, this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And afterward, there would be no others at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When will it be my turn?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wonders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When will I leave behind, instead of being left?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i caved and wrote sad sephiroth fic, don't @ me, i like my sad white-haired anime pretty boys okay</p><p>i can't say i'm going anywhere with this other than that i had Feelings about the SOLDIER First trio, but i might continue this with more sad bitch hours!!!! :'D who knows</p></blockquote></div></div>
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